FLOWERS.

HERBS and flowers may be regarded by some persons as objects of inferior consideration in philosophy, but everything must be great which hath God for its author. To Him all the parts of nature are equally related. The flowers of the earth can raise our thoughts up to the Creator of the world, as effectually as the stars of heaven; and till we make this use of both, we cannot be said to think properly of either. The contemplation of nature should always be seasoned with a mixture of devotion, the highest faculty of the human mind, by which alone contemplation is improved, and dignified, and directed to its proper object. With this devotion, the study of botany seems to restore man, in his fallen state, to a participation of that felicity which he enjoyed while innocent in Paradise.

Flowers are commonly expanded by the heat of the sun; but some are opened in the evening when

others are closed, and break forth at midnight, particularly one,* which is the glory of the vegetable creation like the nightingale, which delights the ear of man, and displays its skill without a rival, while other birds are silent and at rest.

How innocently and how pleasantly is he entertained who, in cultivating various productions of the earth, hath the elements working with him, and assisting him to perfect his flowers and fruits, and raise a Paradise around him! But happiest of all is he who, having cultivated herbs and trees, and studied their virtues, rises from thence to a contemplation of the great Parent of good, whom he sees and adores in these His glorious works. The world cannot show us a more exalted character than that of a truly religious philosopher, who delights to turn all things to the glory of God.

* The Night-blooming Cereus.

Jones.

HAPPINESS is the shadow of contentment, and rests

or moves for ever with the original.

TOWN AND COUNTRY.

MARGARET.

Sure they who lead

A country life, must be more pure and holy
Than we of the crowded city.-There the heart,
Dwelling in profitable solitude,

Holds frequent commune with itself in silence;
Or, which is sweeter still, may meditate
Amid the various melodies of nature,-

The murmuring sounds of insects on the wing,
The song of birds, the flow and fall of waters,—
Which calm the soul and fit it for good thoughts,
Better than silence.-On the works of God
The eye continually rests, and meets
No intervening obstacle to exclude
The observation of his bounties springing
From the fair earth! Oh! in the country
We seem to stand in our Creator's presence,
Surrounded by the wonders He hath made
To charm and bless us,-while the land, sea, and sky

Are open all before us, and our hearts
Receive an elevation and a purity

From the deep sentiment which breathes from them! But here, in the town, all is so artificial.

We see and hear of nothing but of man,

And his ingenious, petty, vain devices; walls confine, and hem us in,

Our very

And shut out nature, truth, religion, from us.-
'Tis surely better, Anne, to dwell in the country.
God is more nigh, and evil further off.

ANNE. I know not that.-Where'er we go, we bear
Our own temptations with us, and still think.
To draw from our peculiar state, or station,
The excuse for yielding to them. In the retirement
You deem so blest, full many a bad passion
Thrives more luxuriantly, and strikes deeper root,
Than in the much-libelled city. Where we meet
But few to compete with us, trivial graces
Will oft engender wondrous vanities;

While mighty envies spring from slight occasions,
And small offences, falling on a mind

Which has but little to divert its thoughts,

Will kindle deep and lasting enmities.

THE OAK OF THE VILLAGE.

HAVE you ever witnessed the destruction, the downfall, the death, of the Oak of the Village? Generations passed away, but the Oak was ever in its place.

The village had a new church new officers-new gover-new mansions-new owners

nors—new proprietors

new institutions. and even new customs and habits; but the Oak was ever in its place. In the centre of the village-green, it spread its luxurious and refreshing branches; whilst the young carolled, and the gay danced beneath its loved shade. "The Oak" was the scene of many a festive hour, many a joyous jubilee, many a happy anniversary! Other oaks had been planted, and had been cut down; other trees had luxuriated, and smiled on the villagers. There was but one Oak to the village others were oaks, and others were trees, but this was The Oak! If a cricket-match had to be played, it was under the Oak; if a wrestling-match had to be